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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323516">dandelion talks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5'>MashpotatoeQueen5</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mysterious Benedict Society - Trenton Lee Stewart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Comfort, Conversations, Dandelions, Epic Friendship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, He is so smart and so good, Healing, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, Ice Cream, Introspection, Joyful, Kate Wetherall is BAMF, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Canon, Shopping, Soft Kate Wetherall, Sticky is such a good bean, Surprise Party, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Walking, Wishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:14:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They're throwing Constance a surprise birthday party, and Sticky and Kate are going to get the ice cream.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Constance Contraire &amp; Reynie Muldoon, Milligan &amp; Kate Wetherall, Sticky Washington &amp; Kate Wetherall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dandelion talks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is for my friend pumpkinthistle over on tumblr. They're an absolute bean and their Mysterious Benedict Society art is utterly gorgeous. Please go check them out!</p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The street feels shorter than it has any right to be.</p><p>Kate should know. She can tell by just looking at it that they have 194.7 feet left to go, which should, really, give them plenty of time to get to the store at the slow, ambling pace they're going at. But still. </p><p>
  <em> Still. </em>
</p><p>It feels like they're eating up the sidewalk in mere seconds. The time compresses small and dribbles through her fingers, splatters across dry cement and vanishes into nothing.</p><p>It's growing to be a familiar feeling.</p><p>Kate breathes.</p><p>Besides her, Sticky gestures. He's rambling about dandelions, of all things, about different kinds of recipes that use them because, apparently, they are edible. </p><p>Time is such a funny thing. This boy besides her, he's lankier than he once was, all long limbs and a stumbling sort of grace. His face suggests more the man he is becoming than the boy he once was.</p><p>He's smiling, as he talks, and that makes Kate smile, too.</p><p>There are lessons that you learn, when you are young and small and lonely. Little truths you plant in the palms of your hands and the cavities in your chest. Kate carved herself hollow, once, and filled each of her own caverns with every ounce of fight she could hold and then some.</p><p>But she's learning she can have this without having to battle for it. Small shared smiles and warm sunshine. Chatter among friends and the press of the world weighing light on your shoulders. Quiet moments. Little moments.</p><p>Life is not a warzone where everything must be won and conquered or otherwise lost. </p><p>Her younger self wouldn't have believed her, if she told her this. Not that lost child with fire in her eyes and small fingers curled into fists. Who ached and bruised and <em> smiled </em>, all sharp lines and sharper teeth. </p><p>That girl was behind enemy lines, trying to prove her own right to exist, implanting her own meaning into the curve of her spine. How could she have believed in anything but loss when loss was all she had?</p><p>But Kate, this young woman she is slowly becoming, she is also learning that people are more than their childhoods. More than the ways they were hurt.</p><p>She breathes. The wind blows. The sidewalk stretches on and on.</p><p>Sticky talks. There's a cadence to it, a rhythm.</p><p>"-the word <em> dandelion </em> actually comes from the French phrase <em> dent de lion, </em> which in turn means <em> tooth of a lion. </em> And did you know- <em> " </em></p><p>"Sticky," she says, trying to cut in somewhere in the space between moments of speech, between one thought and the next. </p><p>This, too, is something some younger version of herself might have struggled with, this waiting and listening, this <em> enjoying </em>of it. There's a rhythm to Sticky's voice but there's also a rhythm to their friendship, now, steadier than it once was and no less brilliant.</p><p>Words and words and words. Soft sounds and quiet excitement, that instinctual joy that is something learned and shared. </p><p>A smirk pulls at her lips, and she knocks elbows with him, the backpack hanging loosely over his shoulders swaying with her nudge. It's empty, grabbed at the last minute in their silent dash out the door, both of them whisper-shouting for the other to be quieter as they went. </p><p>They'll be filling it up once they get to the store.</p><p>"Sticky," she says again, just to see him quirk his eyebrow to be <em> really </em> sure she's got his attention. "All this talk about dandelions being edible, but have you ever actually eaten one?"</p><p>He blinks at her. She blinks at him. Their steps hold even, padding across cement as she balances on the curb and he steps over cracks. Both of them have growing cheeky grins pulling at their lips, his smaller and hers wider, neither one of them holding any less joy nor teasing.</p><p>"...No, I haven't."</p><p>"Well then,” she calls, “I'll race yah! Whoever loses has to dine on weeds!" Sticky tries to protest, but she’s already taking off, feet pounding across pavement, eating up the earth in steady strides.</p><p>(Kate feels steady. Steadier. She had been balancing on a tightrope all her life and now she is on solid ground.)</p><p>"Kate! Hey! You know that's not fair!"</p><p>But in his voice there is laughter, catching at all the edges of his words. He's already started running.</p><p>Slowing down to let him catch up, she falls into a backwards jog. He scampers up besides her, pinpricks of sweat beading in his brow and in his hair, already huffing, rolling his eyes at her.</p><p>Sticking her tongue back in retaliation is obviously the most mature solution, so she happily indulges.</p><p>It has an unexpected benefit of making him chuckle.</p><p>"If I let you win by default, will you be mad at me?"</p><p>It's a joke. And they both know it. </p><p>Funny, how a few years ago, they probably wouldn't have, still learning how each other works, still learning how they work with each other. Funny, how people change.</p><p>But then again, not really. Kate is not the only one who has been growing into herself, pressing healing into all her crevices. Her friend has this <em> light </em>shining from his eyes, a kind of quiet confidence his younger self would hardly have been able to imagine.</p><p>It feels like sunshine, and Kate catches it between her fingers and tastes something like pride on her tongue, even knowing that this progress is one Sticky made all on his own.</p><p>"No," she says, and they slow into a walk just as their destination comes into view around the bend. Sticky lets out a breath, mock-relieved, and they laugh, stepping into the refreshingly cool store. A happy little jingle follows in their wake. </p><p>They wave at the cashier, who looks tired and bored. The aisles cram together in little neat rows, and they dodge the odd fellow customer weighing prices or considering brands on the way to the back where the freezer section lays in wait, along with their prize.</p><p>Sticky looks up at all the different types of ice cream and groans, exasperated.</p><p>“I <em> still </em>can’t believe we all forgot about getting ice cream for Constance’s birthday party.”</p><p>Kate shrugs, analyzing the flavours.</p><p>“Well, it <em> was </em>very last minute. It kind of had to be, cause otherwise Constance was going to guess and ruin the surprise.”</p><p>“Do you honestly think she’s not gonna figure it out anyways?”</p><p>Kate waves her hand in his face, shushing him. </p><p>“Don’t talk about it, she’ll hear you!”</p><p>Sticky blinks at her.</p><p>“But she’s all the way at the park! Reading poetry to Reynie, remember? He’s distracting her so that we can-”</p><p><em> “Shhh! </em>That doesn’t mean she can’t, ya know,” Kate gestures idly to her head and makes wiggly fingers, indicating their youngest member’s most incredible mental abilities.</p><p>“I can’t just <em> not think </em> about Constance’s surprise birthday party, Kate, especially when you’re actively telling me <em> not </em>to think about it-”</p><p>
  <em> “Shhhh-” </em>
</p><p>Their loud whispers and the ridiculous topic makes it hard to keep a straight face, and soon enough their banter dissolves into nothing but something soft and fond and shared. With new determination, the two of them turn back to the freezer.</p><p>Kate narrows her eyes at all the different labels, counting off her fingers as she starts reciting names. “Okay, so, we’ve got you and me, Constance, Reynie, Number Two and Rhonda, Mr. Benedict, Ms.and Mrs. Perumal, my dad, Moocho, your parents…. And, uh, I think Captain Noland and Cannonball are stopping by, along with a few of Mr. Benedicts other old friends. And maybe-”</p><p>“So there’s <em> a lot </em>of people coming.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>They look at the ice cream flavours. They consider the crumpled bills Kate had shoved in her pocket, handed to them by Mr. Benedict with a classic twinkle in his eyes.</p><p>“Get one of everything?” Sticky offers.</p><p>Kate nods, affirming. “Get one of everything.”</p><p>And they do, grabbing every which flavour they can find and then hurrying to the cashier, where the man looks at them with raised eyebrows and rings them up. They stuff Sticky’s backpack full to the brim and then Kate takes the leftovers, quickly inserting them into large paper bags at a pace that has their cashier’s eyebrows crawling even higher up his forehead.</p><p>Then, with a merry tinkle of the bell, they’re gone, making their way down the road back to the place that is always going to be a little like home.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>They stuff their bounty into the freezer and then sneak outside into the backyard, where the grown-ups are putting up the last of the decorations. Milligan raises a hand when he sees them, pausing with the streamers to amble over and press a kiss to Kate’s forehead, a welcoming grip on Sticky’s shoulder.</p><p>“Success?” he asks, and the two friends share smiles and agree.</p><p> </p><p>And later, later, Constance and Reynie will come to the back gate and the younger girl will pretend to be surprised at the party awaiting her. There will be presents, and chuckling, music and games and the kind of overlapping conversations that comes from being family.</p><p>They are sitting in a circle in the shade, and Kate’s bare feet are warm against the grass. Raynie is laughing, recalling something from one of Constance’s poems while the birthday girl sits besides him looking pleased. The sun filters down, catches on her fingers and slips away.</p><p>Somewhere, she can hear Milligan’s voice, rising in the way it does when he’s telling a story. Somewhere, she can hear Mr. Benedict, letting out peals of amusement. </p><p>Her stomach is full from cake, her fingers sticky from the frosting she had dabbed on Rhonda’s cheek in order to watch the older woman startle and grin, eyes squinting in merriment. </p><p>On her lap is a bowl of ice cream, mint chip and butter pecan. She had stolen a spoonful from her dad’s chocolate, earlier. Stuck it under her tongue and savoured it, running away cackling when he had tried to retaliate.</p><p>Kate breathes, turns her head, only to still when her eyes catch on something small and unassuming standing proud in the grass. She reaches out and grabs it, surveys the small tufts of white.</p><p>“Sticky,” she says, and he looks at her, at the dandelion fluff held in the palms of her hands.</p><p>“Are you going to make a wish?” he asks, and his voice is soft, his eyes kind. </p><p>A few years ago, Kate wouldn’t have known what to do with it, that kindness. Kate’s hands were made to deal with truths, not mercies. </p><p>But there is something to be said, for the way people grow. A few years ago, Kate would have given anything for a chance to make a wish, to change her fortune. She would have wished for friends, for family, for a way upward and outwards and out. She had been grieving and scared and furious. She had been fighting all the days of her life since she first realized <em>daddy isn’t coming home. </em>Her world became a war and she became a warrior, believing that the only things she could ever truly depend on were her own two hands.</p><p>She breathes.</p><p>Somewhere, Number Two is talking about getting new measurements for her latest sewing project. Somewhere, Mrs. Perumel is asking for more cake. Somewhere, in the backyard of a house that carries so much love and so much life, a family gets together and celebrates a world that just keeps spinning.</p><p>The sun shines down. It catches on her fingers, on the dandelion in her hands. These are the moments. Quiet moments. Little moments. Things you can keep and things you can hold.</p><p>That’s the thing about wars. They end. </p><p>Sometimes, they even feel like victory.</p><p>Kate closes her eyes and opens them. She realizes, suddenly, in the way of the young and healing, that she is happy. That she is really, truly happy. That she is at peace.</p><p>Sticky looks at her with a gaze that holds steady. Time marches on and things change, seconds and minutes and hours slipping through your fingers, there and gone. </p><p>But that doesn’t always mean endings. It doesn’t always mean being left behind. People change, too. They grow more into themselves. They grow upwards and outwards and out.</p><p>“Together, then?” she asks, and Sticky nods and leans in closer.</p><p>As one, they both breathe in. For a moment, she holds it, lets it swell up inside of her, feels the boy besides her do the same.</p><p>Then she lets it go, whistles out a breath and watches the way her friend’s lips quirk into a smile as he follows suit, the way the breeze picks up and carries the seeds away.</p><p>The tufts of white fly up and up and up and into the sun.</p><p>She wishes for nothing more than what she already has.</p>
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